‘Do not fret, Claire,’ he assured me. ‘I shall keep them safe.’
I shot him a glance of gratitude. In spite of the rift in our friendship, I preferred to have Trelawny with me more than any other man in this type of situation. He could be ruthless when threatened.
We said no more as the carriage creaked along the winding road that skirted the Serchio River, dotted with quiet hamlets of red-roofed villas perched along the banks.
A young man, carrying a basket on his shoulder, stared at our carriage as we approached Borgo a Mozzano, a tiny village that I remembered well.
‘The Devil’s Bridge,’ I pointed out as we passed the Ponte Della Maddalena with its elegant arches spanning the river.
Trelawny lifted a brow in curiosity.
‘It was built in the middle ages by the Countess Matilda of Tuscany, so that she could reach the hot springs, but local legend has it that the devil was asked to help construct it; in return, he was offered the soul of the bridge’s first traveler which, fortunately, turned out to be a dog.’
‘Poor animal,’ he said. ‘I can think of at least a dozen men I would have marched across the bridge instead.’
‘Only twelve?’
He shrugged. ‘There may be even more.’
‘Let us hope the devil is not still waiting,’ I quipped, watching the young man turn from us and make his way across the bridge as he kept a firm hold on the basket. With my newly sparked caution, I kept a wary eye on him until he disappeared behind a large oak tree.
‘What is the real reason you wanted to come to Bagni di Lucca, Claire?’
I paused for a few moments. ‘Aside from Georgiana’s health, I suppose I needed to feel this chapter of my life had closed before I could go on with our journey to the convent. When I stayed here with Shelley and Mary, I had just surrendered Allegra to live with Byron – a loss I felt so keenly that they brought me here to restore my spirits again. I shall always be grateful to Mary for that. But this was the place where I had to make peace with giving up my daughter, and I needed to see it once more before I could reclaim her.’
It made little sense even to my own ears, but I could explain it in no other way. Feelings often floated above any rational signposts and left us stumbling forward at times … but at least there was a destination now.
‘I understand.’
And perhaps he did … more than I did myself.
‘I heard that ancient Romans soldiers came here because the terme’s healing properties could cure any infirmities of old age – even Julius Caesar sought out the warm springs. The fantasy of every soldier,’ Trelawny commented drily. ‘I would settle for an easing of my joints.’
‘Ever the skeptic.’ I resisted smiling at his irony. ‘But you may change your mind once you soak in their warmth … Napoleon’s sister built a summer house nearby and was reputed to have said the thermal springs were a fountain of youth.’
‘And yet she died at forty-three – or so I have heard.’
‘It is apparent that you have already made up your mind, so I shall not try to convince you otherwise.’
‘On the contrary, I am persuadable – but wary at this point.’
As am I.
The terme cast its spell on everyone who came here, and I could only hope nothing sinister awaited us. Trelawny and I would be on guard from now on.
Half an hour later, the carriage crossed the Ponte a Serraglio and began the climb up a narrow road, halting in front of the Palazzo Fiori – an inn high above the Lima River valley. With its pale-yellow exterior, shuttered windows, and Doric columns across the front, it looked surprisingly elegant – and, true to its name, it was adorned with wildflowers on every side. Blooms of red and pink popped with bright patches of color. All normal.
‘How pretty,’ Paula commented as her eyes fluttered open and she caught sight of the scenery. Georgiana still dozed quietly.
‘You may thank Trelawny – he found the inn close to where I once stayed.’ I reached out and placed the back of my hand against Georgiana’s forehead. ‘She is not running much of a fever … that is a good sign.’
‘I think the sleep has helped … she has not coughed in some time, so I will settle her in our room and let her continue to nap.’ Paula lovingly patted her daughter’s back, waiting for Raphael to exit the carriage; then she handed Georgiana to him. ‘She is very resilient.’
I smiled. ‘Like her mother.’
‘Thank you, Aunt Claire – it must be a family trait.’
Trelawny helped us out of the carriage, and we followed Raphael as he carried Georgiana inside the inn’s lobby with its marble floors and high ceiling – a welcome reprieve from the dusty clatter of our long day’s journey.
We registered and then each retired to our rooms, mine with a view of the lush green landscape that sloped down the mountainside below. As I threw open the window and took in the sunlight flashing streaks of gold between the trees, I found myself remembering the echo of Mary’s voice from years ago: Claire, you must come with us. Shelley and I are going to bathe in the Bagni Caldo – the warm water will help you embrace life once again.
And it had – eventually.
I would immerse myself in the waters and simply let my mind drift into a calm, empty space. Sweet nothingness.
Oh, to have that sensation again.
In the midst of my recollections, I heard Paula’s movements next door as she spoke to Georgiana in a soothing tone to calm her fretful whimpers. I waited until they turned silent, then I quickly changed into a white cotton dress and flat shoes. I fastened my hair loosely in a low, simple chignon.
No stockings, no bonnet, no gloves.
Freedom.
I could never be so casual in Florence but, for now, I wanted to discard all the binding clothing demanded by the social modesty that every woman had to embrace to be ‘respectable.’ All of my wild ways had been firmly tucked away for so long. In my heart, though, I was still Claire Clairmont – passionate and uninhibited. That inner rebel always lurked inside …
Letting myself out of the room, I made my way down the stairs and out of the front entrance with a lightness in my step, though I carefully scanned the area. A few young women were ambling back from the hot springs – their hair damp and their faces flushed as they chattered away in Italian. Nothing amiss. Thus, I quickened my pace, knowing exactly where I would go: a hidden stream that fed into the main pool. Following along the river, the woods grew thicker and the air cooler as I climbed higher. Once I drew near the stream, the walking path narrowed with a dense thicket creeping in on all sides, but I was unafraid. I knew what awaited me – and remembered the way only too well.
As I emerged into the clearing, a fast-moving brook of crystal-blue water unfolded before my eyes with a steady, hushed murmur – a natural paradise that lay deserted in the late afternoon. Eagerly, I moved toward the shore’s edge, kicking off my shoes along the way.
Wading into the shallow water, its warmth swirled around my legs, silken and soft. Then I closed my eyes and tilted my face upwards to the light, inhaling the damp, mossy scent. I had dreamed of being back here many times, recalling the drowsy summer days that gave me great delight even in the shadow of giving up my daughter. I knew Byron could provide for her in a way that I never could.
I sent you my child because I love her too well to keep her … you who are powerful and noble and the admiration of the world.
Those had been my words to him.
It had been a painful decision, but Shelley and Mary had persuaded me that it was best. I never really agreed wholeheartedly, yet I had few options, since Byron had made it clear that even if he divorced his wife, he did not want another spouse. I knew that.
Opening my eyes, I tried to come back to the stillness around me, but the past kept edging around reality.
Images of Shelley rose in my mind – perched on one of the rocks, wearing only his breeches as he watched the puffy clouds drift across the sky and scribbled away on a poem. H
e would read us fragments of his new verse as Mary and I waded in the water, reciting the melodic lines slowly and carefully as he sought the perfect rhyme.
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams.
He finished writing his poem ‘The Cloud’ the next year in Leghorn, but this little stream had inspired his creative spark. On the days when he occupied himself with translating something from Plato, Mary and I would sit on the grassy bank, reading reviews of Frankenstein and fantasizing about a time when we would not have to move constantly to outrun creditors.
Our free-spirited lifestyle came with a price that we could rarely afford.
Occasionally, Mary and Shelley’s young children, William and Clara, would join us, splashing in the water with childish delight. Much as I loved them, seeing them made me long for my own child … so much so that I finally persuaded Byron to let me see Allegra. Shelley and I traveled to Venice to see her – and Mary soon followed with the children.
Our idyll ended too soon, for when Mary traveled by forced stages to join us, Clara fell ill from the sweltering summer heat on the road and died in the lobby of a hotel, awaiting the doctor’s arrival.
Mary never forgave me.
I tried to help assuage her grief in every way I could, but a mother’s love could consume even every inclination toward forgiveness, as I knew only too well.
Oh, Mary, if I could only take back my actions, but even this Eden was also a sad place without my child.
The memories gradually dissolved, and I became aware that the sun had intensified, burning against my skin. Quickly, I waded toward a shaded section where a large oak tree offered some cover under its leafy branches. Easing myself on to one of the rocks, I sat there, listening to the endless trickle of the water as it bubbled up and flowed out of its source deep in the earth.
After a few dreamy moments, a branch snapped – and I started, turning my head toward the sound with a rising sense of misgiving. I scanned the trees but caught sight of no one. Keeping myself very still, I strained my ears to hear if someone might be lurking about, but I detected nothing. Then I chided myself for being foolish. Trelawny’s warning earlier had made me overly cautious. No one was out there.
Reaching down, I trailed my fingers along the water’s surface, lightly skimming the small ripples.
‘You look quite peaceful,’ a familiar voice said quietly from behind.
This time, I was not startled because Trelawny’s voice seemed almost as soothing as the gently flowing spring. ‘I wondered how long it would be before you found me.’
‘I suspected you would come here first, despite my warnings.’
‘Am I that predictable?’
‘Only to one who remembers the many times you described this stream in your letters.’ He strolled toward me, still wearing his travel clothes, including the jacket and boots, in spite of the heat. Ever the soldier. Halting near the water’s edge, he took a quick survey of our surroundings.
‘It holds many … fond memories – I could not resist its lure.’
‘Shelley always said this was one of his favorite places. I believe he called it a “utopian ideal where nature could restore even the most dejected man.”’
‘That sounds like him.’ I remembered Shelley often taking William with him to his favorite spot to watch the sun set behind the mountains to the west. ‘But the stay was not without its share of shadows. I resented that Mary had her children with her when all I wanted was the same mother’s bliss that she enjoyed. How can that be wrong?’ I did not need to say more; he knew all about the ill-fated trip to Venice. ‘I blamed Mary for parting me from Allegra, and she blamed me for Clara’s death, so I should not be surprised that she was not always honest with me.’
‘I, too, had a falling out with Mary, but she loved you – I know that.’
‘And begrudged my presence in her life with Shelley,’ I added tersely. ‘I was like a fifth wheel to a coach – always useful but needlessly present during the times on smooth roads. And all we did was disappoint each other …’
‘Perhaps that is why you really wanted to come here: to forgive yourself.’
I twisted my head to look up at him, shading my face with my hand. ‘It seems foolish to let the past still haunt me, especially when they are all long dead, but ever since I learned the truth about Allegra’s supposed death, it has stirred up such deep feelings that all of the events seem as if they occurred only yesterday – though my images of her have dimmed somewhat over time. I need to know the whole truth and maybe she will be real to me again.’
‘Trust me, you shall.’ Trelawny assisted me on to the bank, then retrieved my shoes. As I slipped them on, I leaned upon him to steady myself. In spite of my ire at his duplicity, he was the only remaining person from that time who knew what had happened. He had been my friend – and more, if only for a short time.
‘Do you think, if Shelley had lived, that he and Mary would have stayed together?’ I posed as I straightened and shook out my dress. ‘After the years in Italy, always restlessly moving from place to place and losing so many children, her love for Shelley had changed. I saw it in the way she looked at him. Disenchanted. As if they had lost the keys to paradise – and I suppose they had in some ways.’
Trelawny frowned, staring off briefly in the distance. ‘I saw Mary a few times after she came back to England, and she seemed content enough with her writing and son Percy. Like all of us, she struggled to survive since Shelley’s father gave scant financial help, in spite of Percy being his heir. It is difficult to believe that a man as small-minded and vindictive as Sir Timothy could have produced such a brilliant poet as Shelley. I am sure Mary told you that he refused to meet her, even when she became famous as the author of Frankenstein. A petty man to the end.’
‘She had related it to me – many times.’ And it saddened me since I knew Mary so wanted to be accepted by Shelley’s family, if only for Percy’s sake. ‘I would have thought when Mary and Shelley married after the summer in Geneva that Sir Timothy would have relented in his rigid stance against her, but he could not be moved to compassion even by his own grandson.’
‘A heartless man,’ Trelawny agreed. ‘After he died, Mary, her son Percy, and his wife could finally move to Sussex, to Field Place – Shelley’s ancestral home. But she was not well by that time and scarcely enjoyed it …’
A swell of sympathy stirred inside at the thought of Mary’s last days without me, yet it was mixed with anger. ‘She may have been mistreated by her father-in-law but, in truth, it was hardly fair when she refused to correspond with me after some perceived slight – and then cut me out of Shelley’s biography. I know she spent her later years trying to assume the respectable role of “famous author,” but that did not mean she had to rewrite the past – without me.’
‘I make no excuses for her, except to say there must have been more at work than we know. She did not treat me kindly either – then again, I was never an easy man to tolerate for very long, as my wives could tell you.’ He urged me toward the walking path. ‘Come, let us stroll back to the inn before sunset – I do not care for all this open ground when that suspicious rider may be about.’
Nodding quickly, I linked my arm through his and said no more, but my thoughts remained on Mary and our complicated relationship. We had shared every significant event in our lives, both the good and bad, yet she had chosen to separate herself from me late in life. She was my stepsister and my friend – and, later, a jealous rival for the legacy of Shelley’s reputation. But he never loved me as more than a dear friend. It was never a competition, except in her own thoughts, for he prized her above all women, and all I ever wanted was Byron. She knew that, but she had driven me away, nonetheless.
Why?
‘Do not ruminate so, Claire,’ Trelawny urged as he guided me around a towering oak tree. ‘It
serves no purpose.’
‘You are right, of course,’ I said, treading carefully over the uneven path where gnarled roots had grown wild. ‘I feel as if I can let go of this now.’
‘Then the stop in Bagni di Lucca was worth it.’
I think so …
The path widened and the foliage grew less dense as we drew nearer to the inn, but darkness was closing in and we quickened our pace.
I stumbled over a large root and Trelawny caught me before I fell, urging me along. Moments later, I heard a branch snap, but it seemed closer. ‘Did you hear that?’ I whispered.
Placing a finger to his mouth, he nodded mutely. We stood in place, waiting … as if we had seen lightning and now expected thunder. But all remained silent. After a few moments, I exhaled in a long sigh of relief.
Fuori pericolo – we were safe.
Then a much louder crack echoed from above and I glanced upward to see a large, thick tree limb breaking off from the trunk. Trelawny quickly pulled me away, just before the branch thudded to the ground, pieces of bark and leaves scattering in all directions.
Clutching Trelawny tightly, I choked back a cry of fright – but just barely.
‘Stay quiet,’ he murmured as he moved toward the tree and circled around the trunk, kicking at the underbrush as he carved a path through the low vines and wild shrubs. I lost sight of him but could hear his thrashing about, muttering curses, as he crisscrossed through the woods.
Nervously, I curled my hands into tights fists, trying hard to keep my fragile control intact until he returned. A tense, wordless anxiety threaded through the air … and my thoughts began to race into shuddering possibilities. Had someone cut that branch deliberately to fall on us? If so, was the stalker still lurking in the twilight, looking for another opportunity? Before panic overtook me, I spied Trelawny’s tall figure moving back in my direction. Eagerly, I reached out to him and grasped his arm. ‘Did you see anyone?’
A Shadowed Fate Page 9
